Dear Jonah
by spongebobsmyhero
Summary: CURRENTLY REWRITING! Because sometimes, people have lives that are so messed up, there has to be at least one person who can brighten their day. Someone who is willing to smile amongst all the smirks. Someone who will hold out their hand rather than point a finger. Jick/Joick. Non-incest. Rated M for violence and possible smut later on... and to be safe. Don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

So, um, I don't know how to introduce this, but in every chapter there is going to be a short (or sometimes long) letter to Jonah. And they're kind of things that tell you more and more about the story. They're from the present, while the whole story is told in past tense. You'll figure out all the details (like who Jonah is and whose point of view this is) later. Just enjoy. Please? (:

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_Dear Jonah,_

_At this point, I am so sick of fairytales. If you were to open any book at this very moment, I bet I could tell you its plot, without even reading the title. I'm sure it goes something like this:_

_1. Main character is introduced as an average person, who never thought anything out of the ordinary would happen to them._

_2. Main character's significant other is introduced._

_3. Main character and love interest hit it off, and are suddenly inseparable._

_4. Main character falls into some sort of plot-twister._

_Then, comes the inevitable solution._

_There is always a solution, whether it's a dangerous call to 9-1-1, or a simple apology, followed by a kiss-and-make-up scene. Someone always changes, and no matter what, everything ends okay._

_Never is there an ending that isn't at the very least satisfying to the reader._

_But life is no fairytale. No matter how many times we pick ourselves up, we will always fall. No matter how fast we look away, we will never be able to erase what are now nightmarish memories burned into our brains. No matter how hard we dream, we will always wake up to the same story, picking up from the same awful page that we had left off on the day before. And no matter how quick we want the pain to be, it follows us everywhere we go like the clothes on our backs, slowly killing us._

_More times than not, our stories don't end in "happily ever after."_

Joe

I sat outside on the front porch, studying the scenery around. The sun shone gloriously, and the bright, perky flowers seemed to beam up at me. I even saw a few birds happily chirping and flittering around in the air. It was as if nature was completely oblivious to the horrors and lethal nightmares that this world brought. If this were some page in a book, I was sure the clouds would be dark and ominous, and there would maybe even be a long since dead, decaying bird lying on the sidewalk, an eerie foreshadowing that mapped out the rest of my life.

As if my thoughts were painted upon my body, like anyone could believe them to be true if they just looked, his voice, broken and slurred, shouted at my back. Snapping quite literally out of my trance, I straightened up, and forced myself to turn and face him, failing to steady my trembling hands. It wasn't as if I hadn't expected him, though; I'd heard his bottle of who knows what distilled spirits smash against the wall. That always meant the same thing—he was angry. And when he was angry, you could be sure I was about to be beaten.

Over the years, one of the most important rules I'd learned about him was to never look into his eyes. When he called my name, and demanded that I come inside, or come downstairs, I always looked past him, hopefully into an alternate world that could distract me from this Hell, but usually not.

"What are you always doing out there, boy? How come you never come inside like a normal boy? You ain't never done nothing right, have you? You're just a worthless piece of shit. I should've named you Little Shit. Suits you, don't it? Come 'ere, Little Shit!" He smirked, spitting snickers at me. I only stared at him, or rather, past him, at his forehead. "Well, who do you think you are? I said get your ass over here, you dumb fuck!" I lifted my chin higher, and stepped closer to him, bracing myself inwardly for whatever was about to happen. As soon as I became within reach, close enough for his shadowed face to be revealed, he took me by the shoulders and threw me to the ground, my face and sides swiping the dingy linoleum floor. He took a few steps closer to me as I held up my wall of tolerance, and kicked me once in the gut, hard enough to knock the wind, and probably daylights, out of me. I didn't dare give him the satisfaction of a wince, or even a cry of pain. That might put him over the top. I'd never be the impossibly tough, bulky, imaginary son he'd hoped to raise, but claiming that I had any weaknesses at all could be the death of me. Then, he bent down next to me, and held my cheek, as if I were suddenly a delicate flower. "Now get outta my house, and get your ass to school. Do something worth doing, like making me proud for once. Go fuck a slut or something, you retarded faggot."

And there he left me on the tile floor of the kitchen, fresh bruises ripening beneath my clothes. He never touched my face. No, the old drunk was too smart for that. That was just another thing he had against me. There were several covers that he'd had—a string of lies the whole world seemed to be up to speed on, that kept him away from trouble.

I picked myself up, what little pride I had left, and returned to the outdoors—my own personal sanctuary, where I would wait for the school bus to come and pick me up, relieving me of the Hell behind my back. But where one Hell was left behind, another began.

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So that's the first chapter, yeah?

Please tell me what you think. I really appreciate it.

With Love, Carlie :D


	2. Chapter 2

God, I'm trying to write, I swear! I'm not avoiding this on purpose! :O But you guys know me. I never post because I suck. I apologize for my suckage. But I love you all! I really do! :)

You know, I had a LOT written for this story. No kidding when I say a LOT. Then, I stared at it for a really long time. And then, I deleted it. All of it. Backspaced it into oblivion. I tweaked so much, and you guys don't even know, 'cause all you know is the first episode. :) But even though you're oblivious to what I had planned, I promise it's better now! ;)

Oh man, do I love this story. I think you guys will like it more and more the farther I get into it.

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Chapter 2

_Dear Jonah,_

_It always amazed me how much you could hide with the simplest of smiles. They all wonder what your secret is. Obviously you've unlocked the key to happiness, right? All because of the smile you bare on your face. No one ever thought to read between the lines when you made it so blatantly obvious that you were okay. Why look for an error when it is subliminally assumed there isn't one?_

_But you want so badly to tell the world that you're not alright. There are so many times that you wish you could just shout to the world all your insecurities, but you don't ever dare._

Joe

When he stood his ground to intimidate, I blanked out, my mind stuttering. When his voice boomed with demented laughter, I cowered inwardly, failing to avoid the beast. When he raised his fist, I asked God the simplest questions. When he yelled, 'You're nothing, you fucking butt pirate. You're a retard, you cock-sucking, whiney little ass-jacker!', only then did I flinch. The worst pain was the beat down. Why was he doing this? So that he could hurt someone as badly as he had been hurt? He didn't want someone to push around across the floor like a mop. He was no better than his own father. He was the agony to someone else's day, like his father was to him. He was the part of someone's life that they wished more than anything that they could cut out. He was his own greatest fear. He was I, and I slowly worked towards killing myself from the inside out, drenched down to the bone in my own sorrow, as I took everything—my pain, anger, my guilt—out on those that I saw as weaker than I.

"P-please, d-don't hurt me!" The remark was stupid; immature, yet it was enough to spark my hesitation. "What makes you think today will be any different?" My voice was dark, but my meaning was cleverly sincere. His bottom lip quivered, and his body was stuck in a fit of convulsions, but he managed to swallow his fears, and reply. "Today is… well, my boyfriend is supposed to get out of the hospital today… I was going to surprise him…" I rolled my eyes, and thrust my chest towards him, an act of dominance. I made the mistake of stealing a glance at his beady eyes as I held his shirt in my fist. "Fucking hell," I muttered, pushing him to the side. I said nothing more to him, only stormed away to the parking lot. School didn't start for another good 20 minutes, at least, and for Christ's sake, I needed to light one up.

"Need a lighter?" I turned to face her, and refrained from smiling. It was too little too late as she looked up at me with those damn beautiful blue eyes. She flicked the lighter until a small little flame emerged, and held it out for me as I lit up my smoke. "Thanks, babe." I exhaled a cloud of smoke, and sighed. "Mmm. Want one?" I held out the pack to her, still unable to keep my tight smirk hidden. She gently rejected my hand, lightly pressing her fingers to my skin. "I saw you with that one kid again," she frowned. "What's it matter?" I sighed, the smile finally disappearing. I hated it when she did that to me. She was the one person—the one exception—that could make me smile. "What's it matter?" she repeated, repulsed. I only glared at her through the corner of my eye. "He's just a kid, Joe. Leave him alone." "Yeah, well, that kid's a fag." She sat on the hood of my car, crossing her ankles, and staring down at them for a while. She finally looked back at me, squinting with the sun behind my eyes. "So that gives you the right to treat him like that?" I tried not to give her the satisfaction that I was actually contemplating what she said, but I failed, pausing anyway. "Never mind, Jamie. You just don't get it," I said, twisting my cigarette into the concrete until it burnt out. "You're right," she said, helping herself off my car. "I really don't."

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Alright, please tell me what you think. I really worked hard.

And I promise this is in fact a Joick story. It'll get there. Just be patient.

Love you guys bunches!

With Love, Carlie :D


	3. Chapter 3

I have now determined how this story ends. I've established more for this story than I have for any other story I've ever written, even the ones I haven't posted. I think if you guys stick with this until the end with me, you'll fall in love with it as much as I have. Oh, and P.S. It won't always be in Joe's point of view! Wink, wink. (:

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Dear Jonah,

I think I have discovered why it is called a lie. Each time you tell a lie is like a weight added to your shoulders. It's not very heavy at first, but the more you lie, the bigger the weight gets, and the heavier it lies atop your shoulders. Then, just when you think you're done with lying, it becomes too late. Your own creations have become a monstrosity, and are too large to control now. They grow and grow, until they weigh as much as the world and you can no longer support yourself, so you fall to the ground, finally buried. That's why they call it a lie. Because when you're finally through with it, the only place left for you is lying.

(Joe)

"Jamie, wait." A sudden wave of unnecessarily complex remorse washed over me as she turned sharply on her heel, facing me again across the parking lot. "Why? So you can tell me how wrong I am like you always do? I'm done with that, Joe! Do you hear me? _Done!_"

I always wondered whether she was yelling so her voice would reach my ears in the long distance between us, or because what she had to say was so emotionally dramatic that the only thing she could manage was a shout.

. . .

"Come on, Jamie. You've been ignoring me all day. I need to talk to you. I am really sorry." I continued to follow at her heels like a lost puppy as she stormed away from me. Swarms and seas of students surrounded us, eager to get home to the people that loved them most. Or maybe away from the people that paid them such hatred. Like me.

Surprise lingered on my face—my eyes, my lips, my tingling skin—as she stopped abruptly in front of me, facing me suddenly and piercingly. Jamie looked at me then with so much unsaid that I expected the moment to crystalize, fall to the floor like a marble. But then she opened her mouth, lifting the spell.

"Why are you sorry, Joe? Sorry because that kid is your personal punching bag? Sorry that you won't change—that you keep making the same mistakes? Sorry because you keep pushing me away? Or are you _'sorry'_ because you had nothing better to say?" It was then that I wondered if not telling someone the whole truth was the same as telling a lie. If she knew who I was hiding beneath my skin, would she still put this in the same perspective? If _I_ knew who I was hiding, where would I be right now? Would I have still felt the same, or had the same opinions? I remained silent, unable to form the reply that seemed right. Unable, or maybe unwilling. I couldn't find a single word that wouldn't feel like glass in my mouth. But no answer was always still an answer. "That's what I thought. I'll see you later, Joe."

My heart sank as I called, "So are we still 'taking a break'?"

I could not decide which made the pain in my heart swell more dramatically—her silent reply, or that I had to ask. Agony almost made the nauseous thought of home disappear.

Since the thought of riding the bus, or going home in general, already made me throw up a little in my mouth, I took the long way home, making a brief stop.

. . .

It was hard to think about what I might have done, and where I might have been, had I not lived in southern California. Maybe I'd be bald from pulling out my hair. Or better, maybe dead.

Had we not moved to southern California so long ago, I would have never discovered the ocean, and I would have never even dreamed of what it was like to ride with the waves. It wasn't long after I learned to stand on my board that I realized that surfing wasn't just a hobby, but a beautiful, sort of majestic art. It was amazing, the way you could carve your board into the water and paint your thoughts into a wave. Or the way the wind sculpted your hair into something new every day. Or how the crashing waves sounded like a symphony in your ears. Maybe the best part, though, was how the concentration took away everything else, and left you with nothing but the person you were meant to be—alive and free.

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This ends Chapter 3.

I know you guys really want Your Love is my Life, and I'll Be, but I can't focus on that right now. I promise it'll come back. I PROMISE.

Please review? Even though I love writing this story, it would help me immensely if you said something, _anything_ in the review. You have no idea how hard I've worked on this. Plus, it won't be long before the plot gets super interesting. :)

With Love, Carlie :D


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm sorry I never update. I could apologize for hours on end, because I feel like it. But instead, let's get to the story.**

**I think the story of my life is: So what if it's like, 5 in the morning. Anyway.**

**There's sort of a change of pace in this chapter. For my sake, please enjoy. :)**

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_Dear Jonah,_

_Sometimes the right thing to say to someone is not what they need to hear most of all. In many cases, they know the real answer, but need you to bring it out of them. For instance, when a friend asks for your approval of their boyfriend or girlfriend, you give a thumbs up, though who are you to decide whether someone is "worthy enough" to date them? But nevertheless, they need to know that you're okay with this, even if it's a raging, bold lie. In all honesty, people prefer to trust a tightly-wrapped, well-presented lie, rather than the exposed raw truth._

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(Nick)

I drummed my fingers against the keys of my laptop, racking my brain for ideas. A single, simplistic thought would have been nice, but after several uneventful minutes of staring at the bare computer screen, it was decided that my mind was blank. I'd never finish this story.

Just as I shut my laptop closed, ferocity came raging through the door, slamming it behind her. I remained silent and let her vent out her problems as she thrashed through the refrigerator, before deciding that there was nothing she wanted to eat. Then, as she walked past me, she paused. It was obvious she had previously thought that she was alone in the room.

"Who are you, and why the hell are you in my house?"

Instead of explaining my presence here, I just stay put in my chair, watching in amusement as she assessed the situation. She was so obviously confused that I was just sitting here like it was a normal routine of mine. She must have thought I should have been wearing some gloves and a mask. "Okay, if it's money you want, or like, some valuables, or whatever, you can take them, just leave, please…" Her face was priceless when I started to spontaneously burst into laughter. I then supposed she deserved a break. "Jamie, do you seriously not recognize me?" I said through my laughter. With that, I raised an eyebrow, and grinned like an idiot—a facial expression I knew she would find familiar. After all, I had only looked at her that way every day when we were little.

"Oh, my God…" she said softly, a smile beginning to blossom on her lips. "Nick! Is that you?"  
I could feel the creases in my eyes as I smiled, nodding vigorously. "The one and only."  
She released a quick squeal that only a female could, and ran over to throw her arms around me. "Oh, my God, I can actually wrap my arms around you now!" She pulled back to trace her eyes along my body, making me feel a little exposed. "Look at you! You look so different!"  
I smiled at her yet again, the sense of home settling into my skin. "Yeah, well, haircut," I explained, grinning. She hit me playfully on the chest. "Shut up, you sexy beast. You look absolutely fantastic."  
"Aw, shucks." I replied with fake bashfulness.  
"No, but seriously, how did you do it? Lose all the weight, I mean."  
I rolled my eyes playfully, "I know what you meant, Jay. Seriously though, it just all got too much. My doctor told me something about not making the right choices, and living a dangerous life, but I never really listened, you know? And then one day, well, don't freak out, but I got really sick, and I—"  
"Sick how?" Jamie gasped.  
"Look, it doesn't matter. I'm here now, alright?" I said with an assuring smile, slinging an arm over her shoulders.  
"Well, I'm happy for you," she said, looking back at me.  
After a while, I offered a little, crooked smile that felt like it was just for my own security. "Yeah, me too."  
Sometimes, the things you've left unsaid have to remain that way. There was a whole half she didn't know, that I felt like, maybe, if I didn't share, would get lost somewhere in the recesses of my brain, and hopefully, could cease to exist. There are some things that just easier to forget than to get over.

Then, I blinked slightly, and returned back to the conversation. "So, tell me more about what's going on with my favorite cousin. What was that whole episode about when you walked through the door?"  
She looked down then, as if I had just dropped a weight on her feather-light heart. "Well, now that you're here, I feel bad for doing this… but God, I just really need a break. I was actually just about to pack up all my stuff and leave for a while. I can't take all this anymore. My life is wreck. And, I know you're probably just here to visit, but now that you are here, can I ask you a huge favor? It would put a lot off my shoulders."  
"Sure, anything. You know I'm here," I said, knowing very well that she wouldn't have asked me to do anything unless it was something I was really not going to enjoy.  
"Can you look after Aunt Barbara? If I'm going on hiatus, I can't just leave her here. She's been staying with me recently, and maybe you didn't know this, but she's a raging alcoholic. I'll just need you to look after her for a few weeks. You know… cook her dinner a few nights… make sure she doesn't choke on her vomit…" she trailed off, speaking softly. I could tell she was hesitant, but it wasn't like I was about to say no. And she knew that. She knew me well enough to know that I have trouble saying no to anything, even if it's against every fiber of my being. That's how she would play me like a fiddle.  
"Just for a couple of weeks, right?" I said, my resistance slowly giving way. She nodded vigorously, biting her lip, apparently to suppress a smile lined with anticipation. My answer was inevitable to her. My voice was soft and doubtful, yet audible enough to someone who was expecting it. "Okay."

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**Alright. That's chapter 4. I know it wasn't the most interesting episode ever, but I'll continue to work on this story throughout the weekend. At least you got to learn a bit about Nick. This brings me to remind you that these characters do not at ALL resemble the experiences or lives of the actual people.**

**You know what to do. And if you don't, well, frowny face.**

**Hint: Please review! :)**

**With Love, Carlie :D**


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Jonah,_

_I remember reading a quote once that said, "There's always a little truth behind every 'just kidding,' a little curiosity behind every 'just wondering,' a little knowledge behind every 'I don't know,' and a little emotion behind every 'I don't care.'" I also think there's always an open wound behind every half-answered question._

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(This is the next day)  
(Joe)

Pressing my phone to my face, I pushed my way against crowds of students, slamming through doors until I was out of that school. After I suffered through several unanswered rings, her answering machine picked up once again. "Hey, it's Jamie. Sorry I couldn't get to the ph—"  
"Damn it!" I yelled, slamming my phone shut. Sometimes I thought that I'd heard her recorded voice over the phone more in the last week than I'd heard her speak to me in person in all the time I'd known her. She hadn't been at school that day, so I took it upon myself to go check up on her. I told myself that I was furious with her for avoiding me like this, but the truth in me knew I would keep snapping back to her like a rubber band until that last slap that's so hard, it breaks me.

I knocked on the door softly at first, hoping she'd come to the door without looking through the peep hole. But when she didn't answer, a mix of worry and resentment boiled in my blood, and the knocks became more furious. "Jamie? Jay, I'm so sick of this. Can we just talk?" After several agonizing seconds of silence, I turned my back to the door, and had taken my first step away from the house just as a click sounded behind me. She had opened the door! Finally!

As I turned around to face her, my swelling heart dropped when I found myself staring in the eyes of a guy. Was she dating someone else? Why didn't she tell me? Why would she tell me? Does she love him?  
"Who the fuck are you?" I asked flatly, teeth clenched and knuckles white. He chuckled lightly, which frustrated me beyond comprehension.  
"You must be Joe, then. Jamie warned me you might come around. I'm Nick," he said smiling brightly and holding out his hand.  
I glowered at him with the most intense glare I could manage, but he didn't even look uncomfortable.  
"Yeah, you're Joe, alright. I've heard lots about you. I'm Jamie's cousin."  
Instantly I felt like a total ass hole. "Yo, dude. I'm sorry. I thought you were… well, never mind. Where's Jamie? I've been looking all around for her."  
He nodded slightly, "Yeah, she told me you would be. She took a vacation, man. Said she needed to get away for a while."  
I knew she'd been fed up with me, but I hadn't known that it was to the point where she couldn't stand to be near me anymore. I frowned at him.  
I was about to turn away when he said, "Yeah, well, listen, I was about to catch a wave, and you look like you've got some stress to blow off. Wanna come with?"  
I offered a glum, effortless smile and a slight shrug of the shoulders.  
"Why not?"

. . .

Once the sun had exhausted us, and we were past soaked to the bone, we sat down to take a breather.  
"Aw, dude, no way!" We had been laughing and telling stories all evening. Despite the fact that most of them were exaggerated or made up anyway, I couldn't deny that it had been more fun that I'd had in a long time.  
"Nah, dude! True shit. It had to be the best week of my life, hands down," he smiled, apparently in recollection of the event. A silence fell upon the conversation, so I thought of something else to say before it had a chance to become awkward.  
"So, um, where are you living now, Nick?" From what he told me, he'd been everywhere.  
"Well, I'm usually a little east from here, but uh, you know, Jamie's gone for a while, so I kind of have to stick around and… do some uh, house maintenance, and that sort of stuff, so I guess I'm living here for a few weeks."  
I nodded slightly, acting on a reflex. "That's cool… So um, what made you come visit in the first place? Bad break up?"  
He laughed a little. "Nah, man, just… thought I'd come and see my little cousin."  
"Oh, come on, man you can tell me. Why are you really here?"  
"Well, to be honest, yeah. Bad break up. It's not fun to be cheated on, you know? So I uh, moved out of our apartment."  
"Jeez. Sorry to hear it, man."  
He looked at me then, wearing the most innocent eyes and a cheesy grin, which I found the most peculiar thing to do after discussing such a dark subject.  
"It's life, you know?" His childlike smile only brought one to my face too.  
"I guess so."

I noticed the sky grow suddenly darker as the sun inched closer down the horizon, and glanced at my watch. "Holy shit dude, I'm gonna be late for work!"  
"Aw, shit. I'm sorry, man. Look, I'll drive you there. I insist."  
"Thanks, man. I owe you one."  
He looked back at me and his quirky little smile reappeared on his face.  
Then he said finally, "Alright, let's go."

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**I like this chapter. It's when they first meet and stuff. :)**

**Yeah, so this isn't very eventful, but I promise if you stick with me, it'll get so much better. :)**

**With Love, Carlie :D**


	6. Chapter 6

I want to say viewer discretion is advised? Well, keep that in mind. I think this may be the worst level of violence I make you guys suffer through. But I think you need the brutal truth of what actually goes on in this world, and not a toned down version.

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_Dear Jonah,_

_Webster's Dictionary defines the word "control" as the power or authority to guide or manage. If you are strong enough, you can choose to have the authority to take control of your own life. Sometimes, though, whether you think you're strong enough or not, the decision is made for you. When someone else takes control of your life, it is amazing how easy it becomes for you to comply, without even blinking. Somehow, you forget the past, and put out of your mind the consequences you already know to have happened, and you do as you are told, with whatever it takes. You pretend this is what you want, even when you will never really know for certain. You can fake a smile, but you will never feel the joy behind a real one. You can pretend you feel whatever you want—become the world's greatest actor. But you never truly feel, because you are not allowed to think, only do. For almost as long as you've lived, you've been taught how to think, act, and feel; who you're not allowed to speak to, where you can't go, what you're forbidden to remember. You suppress your tears because you remember that real men don't cry. You don't rebel, because you are taught not to. You might escape, if you knew how. But this control has been your way of life for so long, that your mind closes with your eyes as you allow them to take over, and you can't see any other way, other than to let yourself be blind, bruised and broken._

* * *

**(Joe)**

When sunset finally melted into dusk, my shift was over, and it was time to head home for the night. I clocked out for the night, carefully avoiding eye contact with a number of coworkers as I began to walk the short distance from work to my pathetic, unsuitable home. It really wasn't too shabby of a place, but when you led a life like mine, if it had been a mansion complete with 6 personal butlers, it still would have been the worst place imaginable to live.

I approached my house, readying my feet so that they were in position to make no noise at all, when I encountered and made eye contact with my father. He stood on the front porch with bare feet and a bare back, arms crossed with a stern expression almost glued to his face. I knew he'd been waiting for me to return from work. "Where the hell you been boy? Your pop's been waitin' for you all night." The tone of his voice suggested he was angry, but that wasn't any different from any other Tuesday. I knew that this was only the beginning of the night.

"Well what are you doin' just standin' there, you ignorant piece ah shit? Get your ass inside!" Ignoring the burning daggers he shot me with his eyes, I did as told, undoubtedly his slave.

Upon entrance, a terribly unpleasant aroma promptly burned my nasal passages. It smelled strongly, like bleach and burning rubber. My eyes shifted around the room, searching for the source of the putrid smell, when I noticed an open flame on the gas stove that had not been tended to. Upon closer inspection, I realized that it actually was burning rubber. There was a pair of shoes on the stove and a small pile of ruined ones next to it. They were my shoes, of course. But God help me if I ever questioned his reasoning for destroying all of my shoes. In fact, God would strike me down if I ever questioned his reasoning at all.

"So, son, how was school today, hmm?" my father asked. I didn't wrinkle my nose at his breath which reeked of lingering alcohol; the fear crawling in my skin too intense to activate a reaction in my brain.

"It was fine. Like usual," I replied dully, making sure not to emphasize anything that he would perceive as "giving attitude."

Without giving any acknowledgement that he cared or even heard what I said, he turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic red cup. Wearing a grin decorated with vice and evil, he asked,

"You thirsty? Here, drink this. I been savin' it just special for you." Sometimes I found it amazing how I managed to understand what my father said through his muttered, slurred vocabulary.

Without a second guess, I placed my hand on the cup and brought it up to my lips. The fear of what would ensue had I refused the drink was stronger than my will to question what it was. As it snaked down my throat, I fought against all my reflexes not to immediately spit it out and soak my mouth in soap. Instead, I swallowed a mouthful, along with the vomit that had risen out of my stomach. Setting it down politely on the counter in front of me, I asked with a whisper, "What is it?"

Suddenly, my father doubled over in a disgusting, displeasing laughter. "Bahaha! It's my piss, you fuckin' retard!"

I kept my face an unreadable blank, though I had never been so repulsed in my life. Everything was a test with my father, and failing was much worse than any humiliation he could ever push me through. I don't feel. I can't feel. I told myself all the things I needed that would be sufficient enough for me to get through this. This could have been worse. I've been through worse.

But did that make it better?

Suddenly, my father's laughter sobered, and he stared at me, eyes raging with fire. "God, take a joke you prick!" I only stared straight back into his eyes. Or, at least, I pretended to. I had perfected the art of glassing my eyes over so that I was looking at them, rather than into them. He then snatched the cup from the spot in front of me, and spilled the rest of its contents all over me. It matted in my hair, trickled down the sides of my head and into my shirt, down my back, spreading like sweat.

"That oughta teach you to have a fuckin' sense of humor! Come'ere boy! You still ain't laughin'? Don'tcha enjoy my humor? I'll teach you to respect me and my authority, boy! Get here." He grabbed me by the wrist, and drug me over to the still open flame, snickering like he had an embarrassing secret he was keeping, and it was about to burst. "Put yo' hand on the stove," he said.

For the first time, I opened my mouth to protest, but when I looked over to my beckoning, menacing father, I snapped my jaw shut, and closed my eyes, and did as told, blocking out the raging, horrific pain. It smelled retched and awful, again like burning rubber. Somewhere between the searing and swearing inwardly, I had found myself wondering what it was like to be in a concentration camp. To be ripped away from your family, and forced to strip down to your bare skin, and shoved in a gas chamber. Or to become charcoal in a human oven. I weighed my options, and decided that although, both were slow deaths, I'd rather right now gradually suffocate as a foreign gas poisoned my lungs than burn alive, until I was nothing but ashes. Sometimes I thought about several different ways I could die, just so that I could compare the pains of suffering immensely once to the nightmare of torment every day. Maybe one day this pain would be the death of me.

Huffing and puffing like a rapid train, my father rushed over to me, frustrated that I hadn't given in to his game yet, and pressed my arm into the flame, from elbow to wrist. The flames licked at my skin, turning it black and bloody, literally boiling my blood. It was my biggest feat ever that I was able to hold back the cries of agony; amazing really. I didn't give a single word as the blazing flames broiled my skin.

"Damn, you just all set out to burst my fuckin' bubble, ain't you, you fucker?" There was a repeated clicking sound as he turned the dial on the stove until the gas-produced fire flickered off. My sigh of relief caught in my throat as the force of his hands against my chest threw me off my feet. As I fell to the ground, the crown of my head caught on the edge of the counter, creating a huge gash. Gravity was a fucking bitch as I landed on the kitchen floor, finally howling out my lungs as the linoleum melted into the open-wounded flesh on my arm. "That's right, scream, like the little pig you are! Squeal, boy! You pussy!" I tore my forearm away from the tile, which was ten thousand times more terrifying than any band aid anyone had ever had to rip off. I got one small glimpse of the linoleum welded into my grimy, bloody arm before the world began to dim. My hair felt damp, and I knew it was from the gash. As tears streamed from my tear ducts, I could still almost hear the grimace in my father's faint voice. "Cry, you fucker. That's right cry." There was a sharp pain in my abdomen, and I knew he had begun to kick me. With much force, he collided his foot repeatedly into my ribs, gut, and even once in the crotch, calling out foul names.

Suddenly, the pain vanished as I lost control of all senses entirely. I was envisioning swimming in the dark waves of the ocean. Only I wasn't really swimming, only floating awkwardly. Or sinking. There was a weight tied to my ankle, and I floated down through darkness. My lungs became pressured and my chest compressed, and I realized then that I wasn't swimming, or floating, or even sinking. I was drowning.

Death was an interesting sensation, after all. Not quite pleasurable, but almost. Like it was my time for this.

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Review, please! :)

With Love, Carlie :D


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